


immortal (as our hands that touch).

by flustraaa



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angel Wings, Angel sokka, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Bisexual Sokka (Avatar), Bisexual Zuko (Avatar), College Student Zuko, Eventual Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Gen, M/M, Oblivious Zuko (Avatar), Protective Sokka (Avatar), Sharing a Bed, Sokka (Avatar) is a Good Friend, Zuko (Avatar) is Bad at Feelings, Zuko (Avatar) whump, Zuko (Avatar)-centric, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, Zuko's Scar (Avatar), bed sharing, city of angels au, no beta we die like jet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:46:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28214172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flustraaa/pseuds/flustraaa
Summary: for now, there’s a guardian angel from a religion he doesn’t even follow cleaning out his pantry just because his mom prayed a little too hard for zuko. and get this, he might even be falling in love in love with him.(orthe one where sokka is a guardian angel, and accidentally reveals himself to zuko).
Relationships: Aang & Katara (Avatar), Aang & Zuko (Avatar), Aang/Katara (Avatar), Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Katara & Sokka (Avatar), Katara & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka & Zuko (Avatar), Suki & Zuko (Avatar), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar), Toph Beifong & Zuko
Comments: 5
Kudos: 19





	immortal (as our hands that touch).

Zuko spends his life trying to blend in— but it’s hard to completely disappear when half of the world knows that his father was an asshole and a terrible human being. To make things worse? There’s a fat reminder of his father burned into his skin and something about that leaves a acrid taste in his mouth that’ll never quite go away.

It’s moments like these, he thinks, that make him realise how truly lucky he is to have survived through it all.

Haha, _sike_.

On this fine Friday evening, Zuko has suffered through four finals and a seven hour shift at his uncles tea shop. Oh, and to top off the rotten pan fried okra salad sandwich? He hasn’t slept in what should be considered an ungodly amount of time and to be quite frank, he’s borderline considering paying his elderly neighbour, Gertrude, to hit him over the head with a cast iron skillet (he just knows she’ll leave him her homemade pizookies and the mango sticky rice her late husband made every Sunday).

Instead, he trips over his shoes, falling face down on the fluffy rug, only for Druk— his black cat, to land his paw smack dab in the centre of his back; not to mention, the back that is absolutely riddled with early onset pain. 

He snatches the cat up, rolling onto his dorsal before holding the small heathen above his head with a firm glare smeared across his features.

Well, as good of a glare as he can get. Looking at Druk like trying sound mad while saying bubbles in the most angry voice he can muster. 

“I hate you,” he deadpans, before taking on a whispered, “no I don’t.” 

The little shit just mews and accepts that he’ll be snuggling with Zuko on the floor until.... forever. 

And by forever... Zuko means until he catches one whiff of his stupid boba stained shirt. He heaves out a remorseful sigh, slipping Druk from his grasp on onto the floor. 

After slowly hefting himself off the couch (no he doesn’t not fall three more times, thanks for asking), he dishes out some packaged food onto his little devil-cat’s bowl, dropping a few anchovies on as a non-meme type of treat andstumbles into the bathroom. He peels off his clothes, muttering to himself as he stumbles his way onto the frigid tile of his shower basin. 

The plus about his apartment, despite being small as hell and about as attractive as you’d expect a second year senior in college, with absolutely zero turtle-fucks to give, is that the water heats up very quickly. 

Dangerous or super sexy accident, Zuko doesn’t care because the moment he allows the water to surround him he feels free. Yeah, maybe he looks like a lobster when it’s all said and done, but he can’t feel anything and the empty feeling in his chest somewhat subsided when he runs his shampoo through his hair, and cleanses his face of the daily grime. 

He runs a bit of conditioner through the ends, sighing when he rises to finally clean his body with a handful of his signature jasmine and clove body wash. 

But then— the God’s decide, ‘hey, we all fucking hate Zuko right? More than Virginia Woolf hated James Joyce’s _Ulysses_? What if we just, sprinkle in a bit of surprise? Incite a lil’ chaos. 

And that, my friends, is how zuko opens his shower curtain to find a dude with actual fricken wings sitting on the edge of his counter fiddling with his after shave as if this is a totally normal place to be at ten thirty-seven at night. 

Zuko, not being able to process this on top of all of his... everything, of course, simply stares. 

“Oh shit,” The blue eyed miscreant snorts, as if in disbelief. He waves golden skinned hand across Zuko’s face, who to his credit, only blinks and continues to gape blankly. “How fucked would it be if he could see me right now?” 

Then Zuko hears an ear-splitting screech— it’s only as his vision goes dark that he realises he’s the banshee. 

And the next person to die? 

Probably him.

* * *

“Well, _fuck_ ,” Sokka grits his teeth as he catches Zuko’s head before the raven haired boy can hit the corner of the tub, “I wonder if the sight has anything to do with the his father being a literally demon spawn.”

The angel simply huffs out a sigh, hauling the limp noodled bane of his immortal existence onto his shoulder. Together— no, really just as Sokka, alone, struggles out of the apartments bathroom he mumbles obscenities that are sure to piss off the big guy upstairs— and not Phil.

_Spirits_ , he _hates_ Phil. Zuko, a man of taste, also does.

He flops the towel clad mortal onto the box spring mattress, snapping his assigned mortal into his favourite well worn sweatpants and red long sleeved shirt.

It’s in the moment that Zuko shifts uncomfortably, a groan that sounds suspiciously like, ‘ _father_ ’, passing from his lips, that he takes the vision away.

As easily as the flash back came, it recedes, leaving Zuko to let out his first relaxed breath in what feels like far to long for Sokka’s comfort.

The human’s body becomes pliant, and Sokka lets out a quiet breath of relief.

Much to his dismay, he finds his face becoming somewhat sappy at the quiet rumbles the twenty year old allows through the part in his lips.

In that moment, the celestial being decides that maybe his whole “ _hey dude, you’re neither bright-eyed nor bushy-tailed but you saw me so I guess I have to tell you that I’m your guardian angel”_ explanation.

Has anyone ever had to do that before? 

Whatever.

Sokka would figure it out.

They call him the plan man up at GHQ (that’s immortal slang for _Gods’ (Plural) Headquarters._

But that may be a story for... whenever this kid opens his eyes again and stops snoring like a deer-kitten in a sunny field.

* * *

When Zuko rises, it’s the middle of the night. He throws a bleary glance at the clock— it’s one twenty-three, before something in him remembers the feeling of trepidation from whatever dream he’d had.

Druk is snoring above him, cuddled between his pillow and the headboard, and something about it puts Zuko slightly more at ease.

He risks a half-assed glance at the window, both to check the fire escape for anything to worry about, and to make sure his panes are bolted together.

He smacks his all-too-dry lips together, sucking in an embarrassing breath that sounds more like a snort than anything before rolling over onto his side. 

He tosses an arm and a leg towards the spot where a full body pillow typically resides.

Key word: _typically_.

Instead, he finds warm skin and the soft motion of his shitty, ancient soccer ball being tossed in the air and caught before it can hit the dude adjacent from the him in the face.

He lets out a noise that he will never speak of again, and nearly takes a tumble off the bed. A stray hand catches him, watching him easily prior the voice attached to it muttering, “you’d be a horrible one night stand. No sleep cuddling, and you scream when you wake up next to them.”

“I-“ the intruder gives him a knowing look, and Zuko relents before his eyebrows furrow together in offence, “wait a minute!”

“Whatever,” the cerulean eyed jerk mumbles, suddenly beside him, “do you want to know what’s going on or do you just want to suffer with knowing your doorman sucks ass.” 

“Hey! Marvin is a nice guy!” The unknown figure snorts at that one, now sitting on the desk across the room. 

It only occurs to Zuko then, that his movements are not in anyway earthly. 

“I’m your guardian Angel,” He sighs after a minute, gesturing in a way that would be comical if Zuko wasn’t scared shitless, “I have been since the beginning of this month. I’m not fully sure why you’re just now seeing me— if at all. That’s something we don’t need to get into right now. Bottom line, I should be like poof, gone into thin air at all times. Omniscient on you, but to you invisible.” 

Zuko chuckles darkly, “this is a fever dream right? What next, Azula broke out of the Psychiatric Hospital?” 

“No, but I can make that happen,” Zuko’s eyes widen, and despite trying not to show it— the so called guardian seems to recognise his horror anyways.

“Wait,” Zuko blurts, running a hand through his hair, “Guardian angel? Like... the Christian thing?” 

“ _Like the Christian thing_?” Sokka mimics, raising his voice in a petulant way, “religion literally doesn’t exist.” 

Affronted, Zuko rises to his feet, “Yeah it does! Maybe you’re not accustomed to everything on earth! But... I-I’m Taoist!” 

“Oh, about that,” The ethereal thing purses his lips, shaking his head studiously, “Everything is a lie, and all the gods exist. Next, your mother sent me to watch you.” 

Zuko opens his mouth to cut in, to speak his mother’s name as if it’ll bring her back to him. 

“Actually, she sent my sister, but ‘Tara’s got a temper on her, and apparently—“ he waves flippantly, eyes rolling more dramatically than someone who isn’t human should be able to “you keep running into sharp objects. So now this whole... babysitting the hot broody mortal gig? It’s all mine, baby!”

If Zuko thought his mouth was dry earlier? 

Well, maybe this is what the fucking Sahara desert was like— all accessible on the tip of his tongue with unwelcome granules of salt trickling into his throat, “I-“

Sokka’s standing in front of him now, lowering the accusatory finger that’s still in the air, soon followed by the crossing of his arms over his chest. “Rule one. stop falling on your face all the time.” 

Zuko’s had enough of this shit, and in a great, sassy moment of wisdom he asks, “Do you at least have a name?” 

The man— angel— whatever in fucks sake he is, lets out a disastrous noise that Zuko doesn’t consider comprehending until his eyes open to the— celestial being hovering above him. 

His back is on the cold floor, and with the moment in the shower coming back to him, he realises— with flustered apologies and flushed cheeks that this is the second time he’s passed out today. 

But, like an idiot he blurts, “What the turtle-duck fuck was that?” 

He’s still on the floor, thanks. 

“Yeah, so I forgot you guys need the PG version of our names—“ he at least has the— angelic (?) decency to look apologetic.

“The... PG?” Zuko can’t seem to shut his mouth tonight, can he? 

“Yeah,” the little shit states, as if it were obvious, “Pre-God. Like oooohh meet your maker, buddy.” 

Zuko stares blankly, and suddenly his new... companion looks more awkward than any angel should— he _thinks_? 

“Did you just call me _buddy_?” 

The celestial being pointedly ignores his question, resuming his rant as if Zuko had never spoken at all, “You pass out a shit-load do you know that? Right, anyways. You can call me Sokka. Do you want help off of the floor... or?”

Zuko takes the hand— is that even what you call angel anatomy? 

“You know what,” Sokka is still on his tangent, and Zuko is getting more butthurt with each passing second, “maybe you pass out because you don’t ever sleep.” 

“Hey!” Zuko growls, before his shoulders sag a bit with defeat, “I- sometimes I blink.” 

“Oh, sorry,” Sokka mutters, holding up his hands, waving them sarcastically, “I forgot blinking is a sleep replacement along with your... filthy chais, huh?”

“What next, can you read my mind?”

Something in him dies a little, when Sokka grins smugly; Though he must have half a brain to look slightly embarrassed. 

_Oh for fucks sake_ , Zuko thinks, _is there anything he’s useful for?_

“Yeah,” Sokka answers, sitting Zuko down on the bed and laying him horizontal, “I can make you sleep later than sunrise. But only if you say, ‘ _I love you so much Sokka, thanks for saving my ass thirty times these past two weeks alone!_ ’.”

“You know,” Zuko clicks his tongue, “I don’t think I like you very much.”

“Good enough for me,” Sokka pushes the hair back from Zuko’s good eye, and when he returns, the mortal is down for the count in front of his very eyes.

Gone are the snores from early, and the restless movements, instead quiet breaths fill the space. They’re soon dampened when Zuko rolls to his stomach, letting out a quiet sigh as Druk nuzzles under his arm and purrs.

“Sleep well,” Sokka murmurs instead, taking a seat in the arm chair in the corner before tilting his own head back to stare at the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling, “I won’t let anything happen to you.” 


End file.
